Cold Winter
by blackbananas
Summary: Severus Snape is sixteen, and has fallen miserably behind in his work. People are noticing, too. ONESHOT


**DISCLAIMER: No tengo la propiedad de este serie de libros. (See? Soy bilingue.)**

**DISCLAIMER: has been found to be hazardous to one's health.**

The days of the Hogwarts of 1976 were quiet days. The school was ordered, as much as it could be with Dumbledore running it, and the students diligently were working on their projects due toward the end of the month. The work was impressive, but not abnormal, being that these were a normal group of children receiving a superb education.

The teachers, with their busy schedules, still had time to note on the progress of the children. Bones, with her usual careful work, was well on her way toward a respectable Ministry career. Pettigrew, though his marks weren't always up to standard in some subjects, always was dependable at handing his parchment in. There were the usual few with lower marks, like Goyle and Nott, who the teachers swore that, if they worked just a bit harder, they'd be surely able to excel. And there were also a handful of students that appeared to be struggling, even if they could easily do the work. One of those students was the sixth year, Snape. All of the teachers noticed this, though they hadn't yet spoken to him about it. They knew that Severus was extremely capable, and preferred to fix his mistakes alone. Minerva McGonagall felt that, though he had proved himself undoubtedly in the past, such a streak of independence when one needed help was silly. She'd made a note to speak to him about that soon.

But, today, the greasy, tousle-haired little student left as soon as he could. When Minerva found out he had snuck out like that so inconspicuously again, she pursed her lips. _I am going to need to hunt that boy down later,_ thought the slightly-miffed professor.

Back in the halls, the dark-haired boy had already left the crowd he had donned ubiquitousness under. He was striding quickly though the halls under the weight of an enormous bookbag, and was walking with no one. He had recently taken to silence among his peers, even if he was a quiet person to begin with. Silence was what he wanted now, he thought to himself as he headed toward the dorms. The Slytherin rooms would undoubtedly have a few people in them, and that was too much for the boy. He quickly strode in, retrieved his cloak and a bottle to put everlasting fire in, and headed back out.

Today was a day for doing schoolwork, even though most students were taking advantage of the weather and instigating rousing snowball fights on the grounds. Snape had not dropped off any of his books in the dorms, instead bringing out all his materials. As he walked through the snowy grounds, he took a path far away from where his peers were situated, not looking at or talking to even his fellow Slytherins, and settled down in a secluded area by the lake.

Once he was settled, he sat in silence staring down at the frozen ground. He did not take his work out.

The work he turned in to his classes was superb. However, the work was amounting to less and less a number of assignments as of late. Currently, he was doing average in his studies, and below average in classwork. He couldn't keep up.

The impeding thought now surfaced in his mind. He put his head in his hands and continued to stare at the small parch of cold earth in front of him.

It could have been said, by his more attentive teachers, that Snape wasn't quite the same as he had been before. Flitwick had hesitated before marking the comments "Inattentive, listless" on a progress report is. He then erased it. _But he was usually such a good student..._

Mcgonagall noticed that much of the time he had a deflated mien around him. She had no reason to doubt herself, as she knew better than anyone the difference between _serious_ and... well, _sad_. Depressed. Still she tried to write her silly little worries off.

Snape saw the way the teachers looked at him on the diminishing occasions that he actually did show up for class. He knew how he probably looked. Back at the lakeside, he scoffed into the ground. He didn't _need..._

For a long time, out in the freezing Scottish weather, he was motionless and silent. The bottle for flame lay forgotten. He did nothing but sit, and stew in these recollections. In his bookbag, there were, in total, six feet of parchment to write and two subjects to research. Indeed, that was where they stayed.

The sun had began to set and the expressionless teenager continued to sit out there, oblivious to the cold and the dampness. He looked up at the dull orange-hued sky and noticed how late it must have been.

His expression didn't change.

**AN: Hope you enjoyed it. I'm kind of feeling right now that it's a** **mirror image of my life. rolleyes**


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